Mending Socks
by Frozenleaf
Summary: Mending socks wasn't the same as mending the holes in their friendship, and as far as Cheria knew, Asbel was supposed to be adept at neither.
**Mending Socks**

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There were _things_ that Cheria always attributed to Asbel.

He was a swordsman. He was reckless, guileless, and ridiculously oblivious. He was always the first to charge into battle, the one who always wanted curry for dinner, who was quick to demand, and smile, and act. Without doubt, without fear; he had always been a bold presence in her life- whether she actually wanted him there or not.

Even after they had talked in Lhant- where she confronted him with her anger through her tears, and where he had apologized quietly for his failings- she didn't really know what to make of Asbel now. The months they had been apart since he was kicked out from Lhant felt like an eternity, and when they re-united in Wallbridge, no longer could she say that he was still the same child she had known; the man who had walked out of their hometown in disgrace. Sometimes, she would see a glimpse of a man she didn't know, a man whose eyes reflected a sad confusion, a tense apprehension in his shoulders. And yet, most of the time he seemed like the Asbel she knew- the pampered son of Lord Aston that had _been_ her friend.

But that Asbel didn't _sew._ Not like he did now, in scheduled fashion. In fact, she was surprised that he even knew how to sew; had been convinced she must be delirious or imagined it when she first saw the swordsman sitting by the campfire after dinner, thread in hand.

She had only noticed this practice sometime after they had re-united in Wallbridge, when she had found the redhead bent over the meager light they had, a look of intense concentration on his face as he worked with needle and thread. Sophie and Pascal always gave him their clothes, or the bags they carried with them, as if it was by default that Asbel would repair their worn gear. And she found herself wondering- and marveling- at Asbel Lhant _sewing_.

It was a quiet night in Strahta when she finally decided to ask the question that had been bugging her all this time. Hesitantly, she approached Asbel, seated on a rock nearby the campfire after dinner, one of Sophie's socks in one hand and needle and thread in the other. A small pile of torn clothes were set aside in a basket next to him, and the scene still looked as strange as when she first saw him like this. He glanced up at her as she approached, a small smile tugging at his cheeks as he noticed her.

"What's up, Cheria?" he asked, pausing in his work as he gave her his fullest attention.

She hesitated- it sounded silly in her head. He had been her childhood friend once, but after everything that had happened, it felt awkward to ask the swordsman about his newest hobby.

Perhaps sensing her distress, he scooted to the side, letting her sit. His blue eyes were warm, even if entirely clueless. He was trying his best to make her feel welcome- possessed of the occasional kindness he had shown when she was crippled by her childhood illness; a trait that was becoming commonplace with the Asbel before her now. And though she felt uncomfortable taking a step closer towards him, it also felt like the right thing to do.

There was a sense of security from sitting beside him. Maybe it was because when they were sitting side by side, like this, it reminded her of who he had been- her protector, her friend. Not the person who had broken her heart before coming back, without realizing all the damage he had left behind.

Awkwardly, she let her eyes drift from his expectant face and towards his hands. "So, uh... socks," she began.

"Ah, this?" Asbel blinked, looking at the sock in his hand. Wiggling a finger through the hole, he grinned, "Sophie can't wear it like this, but it's her favorite pair."

"She has a favorite pair?" Cheria blinked. They had only been travelling together again for a few weeks now, and there were so many things she had yet to learn about everyone, Sophie included.

"Not for long," Asbel muttered. "It's just a rough fix; we'll have to get her new ones once we reached town."

She nodded dumbly. Quietly, she muttered, "I- I didn't know that you sewed."

The redhead scrunched up his nose in thought. "It was necessary," he finally replied. "They taught us the basics in the knight academy and I guess I just did what I had to. I mean, it was just Sophie, Richard and I for a while. Richard hadn't sewn a thing in his life, and I-" He hesitated before continuing, "I promised I'd take care of her. I didn't have a clue what I was doing, but at the very least..."

He shrugged wordlessly. She followed his gaze towards the purple-haired girl at the opposite end of the camp.

"You've done alright so far," she said, quirking a smile as he turned to her.

"You think so?" he frowned, a hint of surprise in his voice. Cheria could only imagine what thoughts ran through his head- and she couldn't help but wonder when it was that he had became so conscious of the people around him. The Asbel she had known was selfish and stubborn, but now it felt like the Asbel before her was trying to be different- trying to be kind, to genuinely care about the people around him.

And there was something in his eyes that made her want to reach out to him, while telling her to stay away. Because he was familiar, and yet... _not._

He sighed softly. "It would have been easier with you around," he said. "Dad was right- I didn't know the first thing about taking care of Sophie, out in the wilderness, while we were being chased all over Windor." He smiled glumly. "I only managed as much as I did because I remembered you."

"Remembered me?" she echoed. Despite herself, she could feel her cheeks color ever-so-slightly.

"Yeah," he nodded. "You were my inspiration- I learned how to look out for her from you. From what I saw of the two of you."

"Evidently I didn't do a very good job then," Cheria muttered.

He grinned. "Much better than I did," he assured her. "I didn't do you justice, but I hadn't known how much over my head I was. When you were around, even if you hated me- it always felt like you had my back."

"I didn't... _hate_ you," Cheria spluttered. She folded her hands together tightly in her lap, her mind racing at what Asbel was telling her- bearing his thoughts to her, even despite everything that had happened between them.

"I... always wanted you to be safe," she said softly, shaking her head. "Even though I didn't want anything to do with you then- you had been my friend."

"It's alright." Asbel's sigh echoed in the still night. "I deserved it." He took a long, hard look at the sock in his hands, wiggling his finger through the hole glumly. "I wasn't always a good friend to you. I took you for granted- I didn't even write to you, in the Academy."

She bit her lip, trying not to let old wounds re-open. There were so many things she wished she could forget- so many words that had been yelled in anger; and the sorrowful apology that he had said in return. Asbel knew- of all he had done wrong, of all his selfishness had caused. And she had accepted that apology, had promised to be his friend.

Yet she found herself conflicted: by who they had been, and who they were now. Could they... really repair a friendship that had been left to wither for seven years? Rationally, she knew it wasn't the _same_ \- and she wasn't sure what it was that she wanted from this. She didn't want to lose Asbel again, yet this all felt so strange and new-

But then she felt a soft tap on her shoulder, and when she glanced at him, she saw Asbel watching her with a gentility that calmed the disquiet she felt. And he wasn't waiting for a response- she could tell, from the quirk in his smile, to the look in his eye: He just wanted her to be alright.

She smiled back- and to her surprise, it didn't feel forced at all.

He drew a deep breath. "I'm not... really good at taking care of the people around me, aren't I?"

And it felt as though he was bearing a burden on his shoulders- and even though they hadn't been friends for _years_ , Cheria knew what it was that weighed on him so. His failings- for her, for her father, for his people, for Richard-

And despite the numerous platitudes and comforting words that came naturally to her, the first thing that jumped to her tongue was neither gentle nor caring.

"I don't need you to take care of me," Cheria retorted before she could stop herself, but to her surprise, Asbel didn't seem to take offense- if anything, the tension in his shoulders eased, and he managed a small chuckle.

"Yeah," Asbel grinned. "If anything, you're the responsible one. When it was just Sophie and I- there were times when she took care of _me_ , instead of the other way around."

Despite herself, she smirked, caught by the momentum of his words. "Hasn't she always been doing that?"

He blinked, and a soft laugh escaped his lips. "Maybe!" He grinned. "But honestly, Cheria- I'm not sure how we managed without you."

"Terribly," she replied without hesitation. "All of you were in such a _state_ at Wallbridge!"

"It wasn't _that_ bad," he grumbled.

"The girls hadn't bathed in weeks-"

"Cheria, that's unreasonable-"

"-the food stores were severely depleted-"

"We were in the middle of a war!"

"-and I think the only things holding up were your clothes!" she finished, folding her arms triumphantly.

To which Asbel held up his needle proudly.

And Cheria found herself pressing her fist against her lips as she tried to hold back a laugh. Somehow, despite all the distance and everything they had been through, it had been so easy to lapse back to how they had been. So easy, Cheria thought, to forget that they weren't the same as they used to be.

When she looked up again, Asbel was watching her with a faint, kind smile- the warm one he held when he occassionally visited her bedside when they were children; the unguarded look that felt as though she was staring into his soul. Soft and quiet, not loud and brash like he usually was.

It was the Asbel that she had fallen in love with once; the Asbel, she wistfully thought, that she would like to know more of.

"I mean it, you know," he admitted. "It wasn't the same without you. All those years in the Academy- I didn't realize how much I missed _this_ until we met again. You always knew what to say to cheer me up, and you were always there for me to lean on- even if I didn't know it, at the time. And I-"

He breathed quietly into the night, his cheeks flushed and his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I missed you."

Somehow, it was hard for her to speak. She had spent years trying to move on, spent years trying to forget him and be someone who didn't need him. But the truth was, despite everything that had happened; everything that they had wanted, here they were once more.

And it wasn't hard or weird to sit next to Asbel, to know what thoughts were going through his head. To have him confide in her, to cheer him up by simply being there- to want to learn more about this man that was a stranger and yet, her best friend.

Oblivious to the thoughts that went through her head, he laid the sock and needle down on his lap, bashfully turning away from her. "I know it isn't enough to make up for everything I've done to hurt you, but- I'm glad we're together again."

And as she sat by his side in the cool Strahtan night, watching the campfire light cast a faint glow on the man she was only starting to come to know- she realized he wasn't the only one to feel that way.

Quietly, awkwardly, she rested her hand over one of his. At her touch, he stiffened briefly before, hesitantly, he turned to meet her eyes. And with a gentle smile, she said, "I'm glad that some things haven't changed."

"Me too." He returned her smile then- soft and bright. _This_ was the boy who was her best friend; the boy who she still knew after all these years. And she realized that even if they had changed, even if they were no longer children, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

They were together again, and as long as they were, they could make up for lost time.

"Pass me a sock," she said, stretching her fingers.

With a relieved, happy smile, he plucked the piece of clothing from his pile and tossed it to her.

And as the evening stretched into companionable banter, perhaps they were mending the holes in their old, worn friendship- still holding on after all these years. And maybe, Cheria thought, with both of them working together, perhaps it would be strong enough to weather many more.

But Asbel was right, she thought as she worked: Sophie definitely needed new socks.

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 _(I remember I actually wanted my first ToG fic to be a Cheribel fic exploring the interaction and dynamics between Cheria and Asbel. But because of reasons, that never came to fruition. I'm glad that after like three years, I finally found the inspiration and the motivation to actually write this; and I put extra effort to make it non-angsty although I'm not sure how well that worked out in the end. *cough* Thanks as always to the wonderful Daidairo for being my beta!)_


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